Inspired by: Author Heidi Schmitt-Lermann’s poem “DER GEISTERWALD”.
A Thorwalson braves Spookwood, experimental translation
© Andrè M. Pietroschek, alle rights reserved
His loving wife could not accompany him on the quest,
she had to guard their home from any unwelcome guest.
Still the dread legend of the Spookwood was his path,
for no ghostly forest should teach Swafnir the ‘math’!
Armed with battleaxe and shield he ventures forth,
facing the horror of the night in the frozen North.
Because no horror of our sacred fatherland Thorwal,
could send more folk than cowardice itself to hell.
Damp fog suddenly arises, as if by dragon’s breath,
the brain assailed by raptures of dread and death.
Still unshaken the bold son of Thorwal marches on,
for a loud werewolf’s howl offers a duel to be won.
Berserk robber or moonlight skald it will be known,
unveiling a truth by combat as it’ll soon be shown.
The frosty fey, she witnesses like worried wives,
as Norse and werewolf foolishly risk their lives.
Indeed the Thorwalson overcame the raging beast,
a close call still, leaving the carcass as crow’s feast.
Now the ice fey nears, enthralled by her curiosity,
‘Behave, ghostly lady, I rest and bleed as courtesy.
Her lethal kiss, she considers it merely Rahja’s gift,
but Norse choice of duty before death comes swift.
To banish this ethereal visitor it needs a holy shake,
made from salt and warding oils of the mandrake!
The witch observes it with a smirk, this man’s way,
for this night it is not her whim to curse or slay!
‘I spare your life, if you’ll swear to me this night,
you won’t return here until it is by danger’s might.’
A man of honor the Thorwalson proudly takes his leave,
the witch watches him, then retreats stealthy like a thief.
Returning home he sees his armed wife as she had sworn,
That long night, dear child, we ensured you will be born!